


An Embrace Beyond Thorns

by The_girl_from_the_river



Category: The Wrath and the Dawn Series - Renée Ahdieh
Genre: Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:28:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22762474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_girl_from_the_river/pseuds/The_girl_from_the_river
Summary: Sharhrzad volunteering, plus her ride to the palace
Kudos: 9





	An Embrace Beyond Thorns

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own any of the characters or content of Renee Ahdieh's series.
> 
> This series is in dire need of some love and attention. Shahrzad is just about the most kick-ass character ever, and I tried to add an element of that to this story, even though she hasn't actually met Khalid yet. 
> 
> There are no spoilers for The Rose and The Dagger, besides Irsa's nickname.  
> I hope you enjoy. :)

A teenage girl stood behind sweaty, annoyed, and universally broken people. She’d been standing all day, and had only moved forward significantly when many people had ditched the line at noon.  


This was the queue for what had recently turned into the king’s complaint depository. In better times, people could come here for all sorts of things; loans, government inquiries, and marriage documents. But now it was frequented only by the destitute of heart, the families whose youth had fallen to the Caliph.  


Plus her. Her family had not fallen to the Caliph. But she still felt the pain from a death more heart-wrenching than she could put to words.  


Many of the people had begun sitting on the hot earth out of sheer boredom and exhaustion. The girl refused to. Because of her patience, she’d nearly reached the front. She would not sell herself short so close to victory.  


The man in front of her grunted, and walked through the elaborate door, as another man exited. She was first in line. The girl shifted her waist length hair over one shoulder. She had lush waves the color of night, and she would normally wear it in a braid to keep it out of her face, but she didn’t know what methods she’d have to use to get in.  


Raised voices could be heard faintly through the dark wood of the door.  


The man she’d been waiting behind for over an hour stormed out after less than five minutes in the room.  


The man behind her started forward. The girl threw an arm out, face drawn back like a bow. “Wait your turn.” She turned to glare at him.  


The man daren’t hurt her with other people around, but he muttered under his breath, “bitch.” Ignoring him, she entered the building.  


The soldier posted there looked up from a scroll wearing a bored expression. It was convincing, but inside he was dead tired. He’d had nothing to tell the raging civilians that came in here. He wasn't murdering their daughters at dawn. And he didn’t know why the boy-king was.  


The bored look froze and slowly slid off his face.  


This girl had not waited in line surrounded by grief for hours to end at a leering guard. “Wipe that grin off your face. Didn’t the general teach you manners?”  


The soldier schooled his features in disappointment. “How can I help you?” he said in monotone.  


“I wish to be taken to the general.”  


“I apologize but that won’t be possible. The Sharban is busy.”  


“Abducting girls to murder, no doubt.” she muttered under her breath.  


“What was that?”  


“Not too busy for me.” The girl stated with a bright smile.  


The soldier sighed, putting his scroll down. “Why don’t I take a message for you.”  


Apparently seeing the futility of pushing farther the girl nodded. Her chin raised and she straightened, adopting an air of importance, to reflect what she was planning to announce.  


“I wish to volunteer for marriage. To the Caliph.”  


The soldier paused in collecting a piece of parchment to write on. He looked up. Opened his mouth. Closed it.  


Then pursed his lips, studying her power pose.  


His breath escaped him.  


Finally, he gestured towards a chair by the door. “Wait here.” He left in a hurry, without having bothered to write the message down.

The girl was pacing the room when he returned two hours later. She didn’t appear to have touched the chair.  


The soldier for his part, could not keep himself still. There’d been no protocol for this. More soldiers were waiting outside than was probably strictly necessary for an escort home.  


The girl’s feet swung from movement to stillness in tandem with the door. She appeared to be quickly pulling herself together the way one would spilled grain: with the understanding that some would be lost. Despite this, there was a raging purpose written in the way she stood. He had never met its equal.  


Swallowing, the soldier met her eyes. “An escort awaits you.” He motioned to the door leading to the back.  


God, he hated this job.  


His eyes followed her as she walked steadily to what would grow to be her doom. He tried to commit her to memory as she went.  


The girl was not dead yet. But she would be.  


And he had some of her blood on his hands.  


He caught the door behind her. He wouldn’t be resuming his shift. He’d get some newbie to take his place, no problem. The soldier turned his back on the nameless girl. His clothing itched against him as he left, and the image of her walking with such strength to death’s door haunted him.

There was no one home at the place the girl claimed was her residence.  


“My father is out of town, and I’m the eldest.” She said by way of explanation. There was no way to know if this was true, but it didn’t really matter, so long as she was here tomorrow morning to be picked up.  


After a bit of eye narrowing, the head soldier marked the location on a scroll.  


“Name.” He said, more as a statement than a question.  


“Shahrzad al-Khazuran.” she replied, flashing a smile.  


He wrote it down and then looked up from the parchment to her hazel eyes.  


“You have twenty-four hours. Use them well.” He rolled up his scroll and stuffed it in his horse’s pouch. It was a perfunctory motion, done as though he had not just cut a girl’s lifeline in two. The ranks around him turned in unison, and left her there, struggling to hold on to both sides of the severed rope.  


When they were out of sight, she let out a shuddering breath.  


She completely ignored the front door, opting instead to walk around back. There was a small gate around the small garden there, but Shahrzad stepped over it. The garden was almost entirely rose bushes. It was past their season, and most were losing their last petals. Succumbing to a winter they could not control.  


She ran a finger over a thorn, not quite enough to draw blood. Twenty-four hours. That's how long she had to grow as many briars as possible.  


She could hope they’d be enough to keep her from death.  


Shahrzad looked up from the decaying garden. Where was Baba? Her eyes scanned the garden. The only figure was a petite one, standing in the doorframe.  


Even from where she stood, Shahrzad could see tear tracks, marring her face. A chunk of sobs seemed to be lodged in her throat.  


Shahrzad had not had a plan for how to tell her sister, but Irsa'd clearly already been told. Shahrzad weaved through the plants, watching the silent tears leave their trails.  


Irsa pushed her away when she got to the door.  


“No. No, you can't. I can’t.”  


“Jihirak.” Shahrzad pleaded, catching her sister by the arm as she turned to leave.  


Irsa shook her arm loose with a vehemence Shahrzad had never witnessed. However, she stopped trying to escape. That was all of an outburst she’d had the energy for. “W-why?” She asked biting her lower lip to keep steady. Some of her own black hair had plastered itself to her face.  


“You know why. This has to end.” Shahrzad’s voice grew hoarse watching her sister. But she did not relent. “Someone has to stop this. Someone has avenge Shiva.” She scooped Irsa into her arms.  


Irsa sobbed on her shoulder.  


Time moves strangely for those deep in sorrow. It rocks around them. Like an extension of the pain it slinks along, a lynx hardly imprinting the snow.  


But it does move, however slowly.  


The two of them embraced, letting time wash over them. They lent each other strength, until the tears stopped flowing. Until Sharzhad’s own eyes were filled not with saltwater, but a defiance that would outlast this final moment of love.

The soldiers arrived the next morning.  


This time they were spearheaded not by a soldier, but by the general himself. He had a worn look to his face, not as if he’d been trodden on by other people, but as if Heaven itself had driven bags under his eyes.  


This did not alter the fact that he cut an imposing visage.  


His presence alone made Shahrzad’s parting more somber. Made the exchange of notes more urgent in its secrecy. These slips of paper were her only means of getting her family to safety. She knew they’d obey her, and leave the city.  


They had to.  


Her entourage had hooked up an entire carriage to four horses. Shahrzad entered it with caution, only after her father had been torn from her arms by a soldier.  


Shahrzad’s family did not live in the center of Rey. After her father had been demoted, they’d been forced to move from the city’s epicenter simply to have a place to live.  


The ride therefore, would not be short.  


For all of it, Shahrzadd stared determinedly out the window. The most intense form of apprehension laced through her body, and she fought to keep her features impassive.  


The only words she could think, the only ones she could bear to think, were “I will not die. I will not die.” It repeated like a mantra in her head, moving in rhythm with the horses feet as they moved passed houses and buildings.  


Beneath that, like the fabric of her soul, her very heartbeat, a pulse beat through her. It was a reminder of why she was there, a call to arms stretching from childhood into her future. Shiva. Shiva. Shiva.  


After a time, the palace became a fixed reality before them, and the thrum reached its peak.  


Shiva. Shiva.  


There was no turning back now.  


Shahrzad had arrived.  


And she intended to win.


End file.
